It is nearly midnight as we make our way out of the pub, looking to see if we, as we are foreigners, are being followed. We can’t spot anyone, except for several couples and groups of youngsters lining the famous Malecon seafront; some chattering loudly — sunny, like Joel, sharing a bottle of drink they have got along but a few quiet and contemplative, maybe waiting for their ship to come in. Wonder what Companero Ernest would have thought of them.
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